No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service
by Loveon
Summary: Chuck begs to differ.


Author's Notes: Ah, the idea for this came when I was attempting to fall asleep one night. I remembered seeing signs in restaurants that said things like "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service" and then... This managed to come about. :| It's painfully short, sorry.

* * *

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service

"I'm sorry, sir, but we can't let you in," a woman said calmly.

"What? Why not?"

"Please look at the sign," she continued and pointed to where a sign, in the window, clearly said, "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service."

"…" The man, who stood there at the entrance of a restaurant wearing only a pair of pants, gritted his teeth and looked at his four companions. "Morty, lend me your shirt."

The blonde boy looked at him and simply said, "No."

"What? Come on, lend it to me! I need a shirt!"

"And so do I. Go get your own."

The man looked away, tapping his arm angrily. "…Tch! Fine, I'll be back tomorrow! Just you wait!"

At that, he ran off from the restaurant, leaving the other four alone.

"…Wait, is Chuck seriously going to go put on some clothes?"

"Yeah, right, like he'd ever do that."

"I can't believe he asked for my shirt. He couldn't fit in it if he tried."

* * *

The next day, Chuck had met up with the same four people and went to the same restaurant again. This time, he was dressed in a tuxedo, although he clearly didn't want to wear it. Nonetheless, they were brought to a table where they ordered food and waited patiently.

"Woooow," a purple haired boy said, looking at Chuck in amazement. "I can't believe you actually broke down and put clothes on! But… why a tuxedo?"

"It was from my wedding," he answered, pulling at the collar. "It's too tight though."

"I can think of a couple of reasons why…" another boy, this one with blue hair, muttered and looked at Chuck's rather large stomach.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No, I'm just suggesting that you lay off the midnight snacks."

"How did you know I eat midnight snacks once in a while? Falkner… You aren't a psychic, are you?"

Falkner rolled his eyes. "Not that I know of."

As they continued waiting for their food, Chuck began tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. He pulled at his collar, he grumbled things to himself, he tapped his foot some more, he tapped all his fingers on the table…

The others all looked at him like he was out of his mind.

"…Chuck, are you okay?" the purple haired boy asked.

"What? Bugsy, I'm perfectly fine!" he snapped and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling everything on it. Other people in the restaurant turned to glare at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

"…Don't pound on the table like that, you're not a Primeape or something," Morty muttered.

"Yeah, the only things that separates him from that is that he's wearing clothes right now," Falkner laughed and Morty laughed slightly as well.

Chuck glared at the two of them but continued tapping his foot. He then started picking up the utensils and spinning them around, stabbing them into the table, trying to snap them in half.

"Arceus, Chuck, stop that," the final of the other four, an old man who hadn't been mentioned at all yet, said.

"It's taking too long!" he snapped and slammed his fists down on the table. "I'm hungry!"

A waiter came over to them with an exasperated look on his face. "Sir, please stop doing that. You're bothering the other customers."

Chuck grumbled to himself yet again and finally stayed still.

…

But only for a couple of seconds. All of a sudden, he jumped up onto the table, grabbed buttons on his jacket, and tore it apart, leaving the white shirt behind. He then ripped that off as well, and then kicked off his shoes, tore off his socks, and unzipped his pants' zipper, but still left the pants on.

"Graaowahah!"

The entire restaurant had gone silent and everyone, even the vegetables, turned to look at the man who just jumped on a table and tore his clothes off.

"Ahhh, that feels better!" Chuck said and jumped off the table, sitting back in his chair and sighing. "Yep! This is the good li-"

"Excuse me, sir, but we must request that you leave the restaurant. You and your companions."

"…"

* * *

And so ended Chuck and the others' trip to a restaurant. The other four clearly wanted to pretend they didn't know Chuck, who was holding the torn up remains of his clothes in his arms.

Clearly, Chuck will never be able to fit into society. At least, not as a normal person. He just needs to put some clothes on.


End file.
